


Lost In Thought

by id_shade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fisting, F/M, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Spanking, Suicide Attempt, these tags are making me feel like a monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_shade/pseuds/id_shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since it took control of Stiles' body, the nogitsune has been busy. It worries Stiles is feeling neglected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost In Thought

**Author's Note:**

> 3B is the season I finally got invested in Teen Wolf! It's the season I finally broke down and contributed something to the fandom! And what has Teen Wolf inspired me to contribute?
> 
> Creepy un-beta'd porn.
> 
> So, yeah. Here you go...

_I’m the part of the bird that’s not in the sky._

 

Stiles had felt his neck snap, but surely it hadn’t.

 

_I can swim in the ocean yet still remain dry._

 

He couldn’t breathe, but it was hard to imagine he wasn’t.

 

_I’m the part of the bird that’s not in the sky. I can swim in the ocean yet still remain dry._ It was stuck in his head like a song on an infinite loop. There was no telling how long he’d been thinking those words. It felt like days or hours or, maybe, minutes. It felt like all those things at the same time. It felt like he was losing his mind.

 

“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.”

 

Someone was chanting his name like a teacher disappointed in a promising student. The words were slurred through teeth and muffled beneath bandages. Stiles knew who it was. Who else could it be?

 

“We don’t want to die, Stiles,” said the nogitsune - and he was right. Despite everything, Stile’s didn’t want to die. He felt like he needed to, felt sort of obligated to at this point, but he didn’t want to. Not that he could, trapped where he was now. “Don’t worry, Stiles.” The nogitsune came into view, voice lilting in a familiar way; full of a wicked playfulness and upward inflections. It reached for Stiles’ face and traced his cheek with twitching fingers. “I’ll keep you safe.”

 

The nogitsune raised its other hand, reaching above Stiles’ head, for the rope. There was a jerk and a snap and Stiles’ knees hit the floor. Stiles’ lungs burned as they filled with air. He took several gasping breaths as he knelt there; knees throbbing, throat aching.

 

“Are you bored, Stiles?” asked the nogitsune. “Have I been neglecting you? I’ve been… busy.”

 

It took Stiles a few moments to grasp the sort of connotations the word “busy” held. It was getting difficult to remember things. The lack of oxygen wasn’t helping.

 

“It’s light as a feather, yet the strongest man can’t hold it for long. What is it?” The nogitsune didn’t wait for an answer, he pulled the rope, tightening the noose. Stiles’ fingers worked at the rope on his throat as he was dragged, scenery shifting. When the nogitsune let go and Stiles could breathe again, they were in the basement of Echo House. “We have some nice memories here, don’t we?”

 

Stiles tried to say something sarcastic in the affirmative but ended up gagging on the words instead. He sat up, rubbing at his neck as he looked around.

 

The nogitsune was on the sofa. _The_ sofa. It beckoned to him with bandaged fingers before lounging back. “Come sit with me.”

 

Words still failing him, Stiles raised his eyebrows at the nogitsune instead. He was sure it got the gist of what he’d tried to communicate. The nogitsune was in his head, after all… Or he was in the nogitsune’s head. Maybe they were in some kind of pocket dimension outside of space and time. Christ, Stiles wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

 

“Aren’t you cold, Stiles?” The question left its mouth on a cloud of visible breath. “Come sit with me. Come sit with me, and I’ll keep you warm.”

 

It was freezing all of a sudden. Stiles couldn’t help but shiver. It soothed his throat at first, then it just burned. It’s all in your head, he reminded himself, as if it helped.

 

“Stiles.” The nogitsune patted the cushion to its right. It pulled a blanket from the back of the sofa, from nothing.

 

Stiles drew in his knees. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He sighed. He exhaled slowly. It was no good, he wasn’t feeling particularly rebellious. Why drag it out?

 

“Come he-”

 

“I’m coming!” snapped Stiles, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. He saw the nogitsune’s mouth stretch into what might be a smile as he came over.

 

It was warm beside the nogitsune, beneath the blanket. The nogitsune chafed his arms and, without giving the matter much conscious thought, Stiles closed the space between them some.

 

“Ah,” sighed the nogitsune, the chafing gradually becoming a slow caress. “See? I _have_ been neglecting you.”

 

Stiles tried to shrug off the nogitsune and roll his eyes for effect but found himself looking away, blinking rapidly instead. He wasn’t sure when his eyes had filled with tears, but they were all threatening to spill out now. It felt like it had been ages since anyone had even acknowledged that he was still alive. There was a hungry, guilty need in his chest. There was an awful aching loneliness.

 

“You you miss your friends,” observed the nogitsune.

 

Stiles felt the hands leave his arms. He felt them graze his clothing as they went lower, finally slipping beneath his t-shirt. The bandages felt rough against his stomach. He jerked away, but the nogitsune caught him by the waist of his pants. Stiles didn’t have it in him right now to put up a fight.

 

“Do you miss Malia?” The nogitsune unbuttoned Stiles’ jeans. He trailed one hand down his stomach to rest on his hip. The hand there lost its roughness. It became smaller, more feminine. The nogitsune did too, melting down until it was Malia sitting there, smiling at him.

 

Stiles exhaled a shuddering breath. He knew it wasn’t her, but it was stirring arousal in him anyway.

 

“Do you miss your friends?” asked Malia, and the hand at Stiles’ hip changed again. It was Scott who unzipped his jeans the rest of the way. It was Scott whose eyes moved over him appraisingly.

 

Stiles laughed mirthlessly, miserably. He closed his eyes as Scott’s finger nudged beneath the elastic of his underwear.

 

“Do you miss your family?” It was Stiles’ dad’s voice that asked that question.

 

Stiles scrambled backward, but his dad caught him by the arm. (Not his dad, Stiles reminded himself. Not his dad. Not his dad.) He frowned, wearing the sort of disappointed expression Stiles saw on a fairly regular basis. “Do you know the half of what you’ve done, Stiles? Do you know what you put me through?”

 

Stiles said nothing. He wasn’t going to play this game. He had already made a mistake by trying to get away. The nogitsune was just trying to get a rise out of him.

 

“You’ve been such a bad boy, Stiles.”

 

Stiles snorted at that. “Give me a break.”

 

“Undress.”

 

Stiles stood. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Stiles tried to sound more sure of that than he felt. The nogitsune hadn’t been asking.

 

“Who’s controlling your body? I thought you cared about your friends?” It was a threat, an obvious one. The nogitsune liked leverage. As long as there was something for it to gain, it seemed happy to leave a few of the things most important to Stiles, mostly, intact.

 

Stiles started to sit back down, but his dad held up a hand to stop him. “Undress.”

 

Stiles complied; slow and reluctant at first, then fast and resentful. He threw his clothes to the floor and glared at the shape of his father seated on the sofa. It wasn’t as cold as it had been, but it was still pretty chilly. The bravado didn’t last long. Stiles wrapped his arms around himself and glanced away. When a hand came to rest on his hip again, he jumped.

 

His dad smiled at him, something that made Stiles’ heart lurch. Both hands came to his waist and pulled Stiles closer. “The things you’ve done…” His thumbs traced slow, thoughtful circles on his skin. “Were you aware of any of that? Do I need to explain it to you?”

Stiles said nothing. He wasn’t even sure what the nogitsune wanted to hear.

 

His dad moved to the edge of the sofa. He patted his knee. “Bend over.”

 

“You have to be kidding.”

 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

 

Stiles felt his face growing warm. He knew he was blushing, and that made him blush harder. “You’re not going to… I’m not going to let you…”

 

“Discipline you? No? You must not care about your friends then.” His dad shook his head, mouth quirking in a weary half-smile, ashamed but not surprised. “You must not care about me.”

 

“Dammit.” Stiles’ heart was pounding. A cold wave of anxiety washed over him. He stepped closer and laid himself down across his dad’s knees. He buried his face in the sofa cushion, biting his lip as he felt a hand follow the curves of his ass and brush over the tops of his bare thighs. The hand left and came down so suddenly, it made Stiles jump. He whimpered without meaning to. When the hand came down again, he was ready for it.

 

“Count,” said his dad. His hand came down again, and the sound echoed.

 

Stiles kept his face against the sofa cushion.

 

“Count!” He brought his hand down harder.

 

“One.” Stiles seethed the word into the cushion.

 

His dad brought his hand down again. “I didn’t hear you.”

 

Stiles lifted himself up enough to fold his arms beneath his head. “Two!”

 

The hand came down again. “Don’t you use that tone when you’re talking to me. We still haven’t made it past one.”

 

“One.”

 

Again. “Better."

 

“Two.”

 

Again. “Good boy.”

 

Stiles got all the way to ten before his dad shifted. “Get on your knees.” There was a metallic, rattling sound. Stiles realized he was taking his belt off. He didn’t look. He rose to his hands and knees and moved, slowly, to the other end of the sofa. The cushions shifted as his dad stood.

 

“Keep counting.”

 

“Ele- ah!” The belt hit harder and bit deeper than an open hand had.

 

The belt came down a second time. “What was that?”

 

“Twelve!”

 

Again. “Eleven.”

 

“Eleven,” Stiles corrected, digging his fingers into the arm of the sofa. He rested his forehead down against it too. By the time it stopped, Stiles was at twenty and aching. He kept still, ready to count twenty-one. When it never came, he released a slow and cautious breath that didn’t sound unlike a sob.

 

“Oh, stop whining.” It was Lydia’s voice. Stiles looked back to see her standing there instead of his dad, going through her purse. “Stay where you are. I just did my nails, so- ah. Here we go.” She removed a yellow glove from her purse and tugged it on.

 

“What-” A hand caught the side of Stiles’ face, making him look straight ahead again.

 

“Hold still,” said the nogitsune, grabbing Stiles by the arms when he jumped at the sight of him. “We’re not finished here yet. I have another riddle for you: What can you always count on?”

 

“I-I don’t care! I-” Stiles felt Lydia’s fingers on his spine, covered in slick plastic. She hummed thoughtfully, the sofa dipping with her weight as she climbed onto it. Stiles began to get up but fought the urge, closing his eyes and shuddering instead.

“Very good,” said the nogitsune, approvingly.

 

Lydia’s fingers were at the small of his back now. Her ungloved hand touched the inside of his thigh.

 

Stiles had imagined being naked with Lydia before, but not like this. “Stop it,” he whispered to the nogitsune, as if it mattered if Lydia heard, as if they weren’t the same person.

 

With more strength than she should have had, Lydia spread Stiles’ legs further apart. She pushed one finger inside him and then another, almost without pause.

 

“Shh.” It was his dad’s voice again; his dad crouching where the nogitsune had been, his dad stroking back his hair.

 

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut once more. Lydia twisted her fingers slowly, massaging him. “Relax,” she said, rubbing the inside of his thigh with her other hand. She drew her fingers out and in, pressing against his prostate. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

It didn’t feel good; Stiles couldn’t say it felt good. He moaned anyway, getting aroused despite himself.

 

“Mm hmm.” Lydia sounded pleased. Her fingers rubbed more, twisted again, and she started to ease in a third finger.

 

“No. No, no, no, no, no…” Stiles repeated the word ‘no’ until it had lost all meaning.

 

“You’re doing well,” said his dad.

 

“Don’t tense up,” said Lydia, though she didn’t seem too worried about hurting him. Everything was slick with lube Stiles didn’t remember her applying. It helped her slide in a fourth finger but mostly just felt messy, disgusting.

 

“That’s enough,” Stiles pleaded. He felt too stretched already and could already feel her bending her thumb around to push that in too. “I… I don’t… Please, stop.”

 

Lydia got all five fingers into him anyway, pushing them in past the knuckles, curling them inside him, making a tight fist. “I’ll stop when you come.” She was up to her wrist inside him, and when she moved it pulled a moaning sort of sob from Stiles.

 

He bowed his head against his dad’s shoulder, (Not his dad, he reminded himself yet again. Not Lydia.) took a deep breath, and reached for his cock. It was already partially erect. He didn’t know why. The fullness he was feeling was excruciating.

 

“You’re so tight.” Lydia shifted her weight on the sofa then continued; fucking him with her fist, pushing in her forearm.

 

Stiles cried out again. It felt like he was being torn apart. He stroked his cock, willing himself to just come now and be done with all this. He tried to ignore his dad’s hand in his hair. He tried to ignore the pain and focus on what felt good. It was easier than it should have been. His muscles spasmed as he came, tightening around Lydia’s arm. She waited there patiently as Stiles struggled to relax again, too humiliated to feel relieved.

 

Finally, Lydia pulled out. His dad stepped away. Stiles collapsed onto the sofa; shaking and miserable, damp with sweat and other things besides. He shivered. For a long time, he just laid there. He knew the nogitsune was still nearby, watching.

 

After an indeterminate amount of time, it came forward. “Feeling better, Stiles?” It came with the blanket from before. It wrapped him in it, lifting him with unnatural ease.

 

Stiles’ breath hitched. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud; that this was better than being left alone and forgotten again. Anything was better than being left alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write things of a PWP nature. If I do, they're usually for a kink meme. This particular fic inspired me to make a new account where I can drop off my more shameful bits of fic. A few people I interact with face-to-face know of my main AO3 account, and... They really don't need to know all my kinks.
> 
> That said, If for some reason you do want to read my other stuff, my other pseud can be pretty easily found by searching Yuletide on my tumblr: http://fuchsiaprose.tumblr.com/


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